


Home for the Holidays

by Creed Cascade (creedcascade)



Category: Tour of Duty (1987)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Holidays, M/M, Post-War, Soldiers, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-17
Updated: 2011-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creedcascade/pseuds/Creed%20Cascade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myron gets a surprise for the holiday season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home for the Holidays

Nikki Raines was born the second of five daughters on a small tobacco farm in Charlotte County, Virginia. Her daddy always wanted a son, but that didn’t stop the old man from making sure his daughters worked. Being the second born meant she was expected to help with her younger sisters, but never old enough to escape the nagging of her older sister and mama. Anyone weaker would have let herself be dragged down into the need and poverty of her family, but since she was four and punched her sister in the nose for taking her cookie, she was strong enough to take care of herself. Her older sister Donna left school by fifteen just so she could help their mama out and by seventeen was knocked up, married, and too poor to afford a ring. Nikki refused to be like every other woman in her family.

When she was twelve Nikki stole a Vogue from the dime store and pinned up pictures of a stewardess in front of the Eiffel Tower on her bedroom wall. When she was fourteen she tore the sun faded picture down because she heard from Mrs. Archer that her niece from Richmond, a stewardess in New York, got her ass pinched by fat men flying coast to coast. At fifteen she was practical enough to know that if she wanted to get her ass pinched she could be a waitress at the local bar. By sixteen, Nikki had a recruiting pamphlet from the army tucked away in her bedside table. The recruiting officer assured her a career in nursing was a nice job for a pretty little lady like Nikki. Nikki had plastered on the same fake smile she wore in church and heard through the bullshit that this was her opportunity to escape. She wasn’t stupid enough to tack the pamphlet with the picture of the middle aged nurse in practical shoes up on her wall because she would never hear the end of it. Her mother and sisters would just tell her to stop grasping at silly dreams and maybe if she was lucky and kept her smart mouth shut, she could be some businessman’s secretary.

Nikki was the first of the Raines girls to graduate high school and brought her own pen to sign the paperwork joining the army, financing her nursing school education. She didn’t cry when she got on the bus to leave Charlotte County behind her, dutifully kissing her mother on the cheek and not caring that her father couldn’t be bothered to come out from the fields to see her off. The five dollars her mother slipped her saying it was from her daddy was quickly spent on trendy off duty clothing she could never afford before. By the end of her third month of training, she had managed to nearly perfectly copy the Midwest accent of most of the other nurse trainees. Nikki graduated in the top twenty percent of her class and her neat writing on her letter home never betrayed her sweaty, shaking hand when she told her family she was going to Vietnam. She dutifully wrote it was an honour to serve, but never mentioned that it was the best way to guarantee a promotion and a raise. The army was her backup plan to assure she would never have to go back to Virginia. Her first plan of action was to marry a doctor, but one who appreciated her for her hard work and not her pert ass because she refused to be cheated on, or divorced, and turned in for a more pert ass.

Nikki had always had a plan and sticking to that plan had worked until she quickly realized that the war was not something to be endured, but survived. When she lived and dreamed of blood, then the plan was nowhere in her thoughts. Finding any form of comfort or distraction became a priority. And the best comfort Nikki had found was a messed up lieutenant. Nikki stopped thinking about her dirt poor family, her future, and ever so briefly, the war, when she was with Myron Goldman. His intensity burned so bright that she was drawn to it and it almost made her believe he loved her.

He was supposed to be a way to pass the time until the fall of 1967 when she found out she was pregnant. An abortion was definitely not part of the plan, but it was the only solution to her problem. And that was exactly what it was to her: not a baby, but a mortifying setback that could be rectified with a simple medical procedure. She told herself that when she was waiting to see the doctor in Vietnam. And the thing that made her walk out wasn’t a sudden surge of guilt. What made her turn around was what she perceived as nearly barbaric conditions. All she could think about was the beauty of the stainless steel and sterility of the operating rooms stateside. No matter what, she was not willing to put her life in danger for one mistake. In a moment of pure selfishness, she left without her planned abortion.

Rationality was not at the forefront of her mind when she fled. She had only been thinking of infection and bleeding out in this godforsaken country. Once she was back to her hootch, she convinced herself she could get a pass to Japan and quickly have the procedure done in a safe, modern facility. When she told Myron she had an abortion, she had every intention of getting it done. The only thing standing in her way was a supervisor pissed at her for a so-called attitude problem and it was three weeks before she could get to Japan. It was three weeks too late. The doctor refused to do the procedure claiming she was already into the second trimester. By that time, it was becoming too hard to hide her condition from the army and Nikki felt everything she had worked so hard for slipping away. There was no word for how much she resented the child she was carrying, but hatred came pretty close.

++++++

Christmas 1969

New York was almost a living, breathing thing: ever temperamental, moody, and exceptional in so many ways. Myron never understood that it worked its way into his blood because he was so much like the city itself. It was as much a part of him as anything meaningful connected to his family could be. For Myron the press of rushing people and honking cabs spoke of home more than anywhere the General had tried to force on him. The city whispered memories of his mother, carrying on the love-hate relationship he had with her. He had memories of his mother taking him there on vacation and dragging him to Synagogue or to visit relatives who looked at him with judging eyes. He had no memories of his mother’s family at her funeral because his father had actually followed Jewish tradition and buried her too quickly for his in-laws to travel. Myron thought it was more about Goldman senior avoiding them than honouring Jewish tradition.

When he first got back to the city, Myron flipped open a phone book in a weathered bar on East 76th Street and quickly slammed it shut when he saw the columns upon columns of Weiss’, his mother’s people. With half a bottle of cheap whiskey, he had decided that they were left best to the dim memories of his past. He was alone when the family he had built in ‘Nam returned to their own families and lives. There were times when he saw something amusing and wanted nothing more than to tell Zeke, but then remembered that Zeke wasn’t there. Zeke was taking care of his own business, just like Myron had told him to after Myron sent him away before Zeke could walk away from him again. Myron didn’t like to think of the way Zeke had always watched or touched him; like he was waiting for something that Myron refused, or maybe was afraid to acknowledge. He had been trying to protect himself the pain of losing Zeke by pushing him away under his own terms, but the loss, no matter how it happened, was overwhelming.

New York was the perfect place for an insomniac like Myron. No matter what time of night he was awake, when his eyes were aching with sleep deprivation, there was always some place for him to buy a pack of cigarettes and bottle of whiskey. Myron had a job at a publishing company. His year and a half of college, with a major in English thank you very much, had been enough to buy him a position proofing technical manuals. The best and only thing the job had going for it was a pay cheque. Being stateside was supposed to be a salvation to any soldier, but this supposed home ground felt almost as foreign as ‘Nam. Myron did his job with as much enthusiasm as a FNG would digging latrines and stalked through the streets of New York with the same caution he took humping through the bush. He did it because there was nothing else to do and he wasn’t quite ready yet to blow his brains out. It was the holiday season and the gaudy decorations were more amusing than annoying, yet they still meant nothing to him.

This particular Friday night he had drunken himself into a stupor, like pretty much every weekend. Somewhere in the haze of the Saturday morning, probably before noon a thump thump thump cut right through Myron’s uneasy sleep. His body was still hardwired for life in a war zone. For a hazy moment he thought he was back in ‘Nam. He bolted awake, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. When he realized it wasn’t a life threatening situation, his mind thought it might be McKay being an asshole, a perpetual condition for the chopper jock, and Myron still fumbled for the non-existent weapon, thinking maybe McKay needed another reminder to keep his noise on his side of the hooch. Instead Myron settled for throwing his pillow in the general direction of the door and then realized how stupid a decision that was when he had nothing to muffle the sound under.

With a litany of grumbled curses, Myron stumbled out of his bed, almost tripping over the stack of books by the end of the mattress. The studio apartment was chilly and he involuntary shivered, scratching at his bare chest. The mattress was on the floor next to the radiator. When the ancient radiator gurgled and wheezed to life in the middle of the night, it churned out excessive heat, but when it died with a protesting groan, no heat was to be found. Like New York and Myron himself, Myron’s damn radiator was all or nothing. For that very reason, Myron found himself shuffling to the door in only his boxers and bare feet.

His peep hole was useless, caked with dust and fingerprints from people pressing their fingertips over the other side. Myron thumped his fist against his side of the door so he could give the other person a taste of their own medicine.

“What?” Myron bellowed.

The thumping stopped. “Open up.”

Myron’s brows drew together when he heard the female voice. His landlady was ancient with an eastern European accent and Myron was pretty sure he hadn’t been messing around with anyone when he crawled in and then out of a bottle of whiskey last night. There had been no one since his disastrous relationships in ‘Nam.

He cracked open the door, only to have it pushed open by the woman standing on the other side. There was nothing quite like seeing your ex-girlfriend standing there holding a kid to sober you up quickly, or wish you were passed out in a drunken stupor again.

Nikki had a toddler perched on her hip. The baby was dressed in a boy’s navy coat that was too big for her, open and missing a button. She was dressed in a white and navy sailor suit stained with something crusty and orange all over the bib. The baby girl was chewing on her fist and her hair was a riot of blonde curls that clearly no one had tried to tame. Myron’s mouth gaped open and he felt nauseous.

“Her name’s Charlotte.” Nikki thrust the little girl at Myron and he had no option but to grab her under her arms, or she would have dropped to the floor. Nikki dropped a small pink Barbie knapsack onto the floor just inside Myron’s apartment. “Yes, you’re the father. Your name’s on the birth certificate. I still have friends in the army who were able to help me track you down.”

Myron’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. He held Charlotte at arms’ length like she was a really big grenade with the pin taken out.

“I didn’t sleep around,” Nikki continued on. She took a pair of leather gloves out of her pocket and pulled them on. “My sister Donna’s been taking care of her, but she’s knocked up again and called me to come get the brat. I could try to pawn her off on one of my other sisters, but then I thought, it might not be a good idea for her to be raised by people who call her a dirty little Jew.”

“You told me you had…”

“I obviously didn’t,” Nikki snapped. “I didn’t give her up for adoption because I believe children should be raised by their blood. No one on my side of the family wants her, especially me. I’ve got a good job and don’t have any time for her. Be a man about this.”

Charlotte was still sucking on her fist, eyeing Myron warily. “Nikki…”

“She’s been my problem, now she’s yours.” Nikki took several steps back, her footfalls echoing in the narrow hallway. “Merry Christmas. Or, I guess that should be Happy Hanukkah. Either way, goodbye.”

Myron followed Nikki into the hall, still holding Charlotte out in front of him. “Nikki, you can’t leave her with me!”

Nikki whirled around and her expression turned ugly. “You’re the one who wanted a kid, Myron! I never did. She’s only alive because I couldn’t get a safe abortion in time without endangering my own life. I figure you deserve each other. Don’t try and track me down. I don’t want her.”

Myron watched as Nikki stalked down the hallway and didn’t turn back. Holding the toddler, Myron wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t crying for her mama since Nikki didn’t seem too much of a mother. Standing in his boxers, he stared at Charlotte and she stared back at him. She won the battle of wills when Myron looked away first.

“Fuck,” Myron snapped and the baby made a huffing noise at the sharp tone.

He sighed and carried her back into the apartment still at arms length, kicking the door shut with his foot. Even if he wanted to chase after Nikki, running into the streets of New York in his underwear wasn’t the smartest of decisions. He set Charlotte down on the floor and expected her to start crying. Instead she kept sucking at her fist, looking around with big brown eyes. Myron started to pace in front of Charlotte and she watched him, her head bopping back and forth. He stopped right in front of her and put his hands on his hips.

“Fuck,” Myron repeated, glaring down at her.

She glared back up at him. Charlotte popped her drool covered fist out of her mouth and solemnly announced, “Cow.”

“Sounds about right, kid.”

Turning his attention to the knapsack, he found a change of clothing for one day, a few pairs of rubber pants, and three cloth diapers. In the side pocket, he found a birth certificate for Charlotte Myrna Goldman.

“Myrna?” Myron snorted and shook his head. “She really must’ve hated you.”

His own name was listed as father in typed letters right next to Nicole Raines as mother. He did a quick mental calculation based on her date of birth and realized Charlotte was just over a year and a half old, and that she was the right age to be the baby from Nikki’s pregnancy in Vietnam.

Myron kept waiting for Charlotte to cry, but she kept watching Myron and occasionally babbled nonsense or the word cow. The whole situation was absurd, but Myron had learned long ago that things that happened in real life were far more ridiculous than fiction. Mothers abandoned their children all the time and did things far worse. In a daze he managed to get dressed and picked Charlotte up. He hauled her to the only place he could think of in a situation like this. The book store around the corner was the one source of comfort he had been able to find in the city that wasn’t a cigarette or in a bottle. Within in an hour, Myron was carrying a brand new copy of ‘The Common Sense Book of Baby and Child Care’ by Dr. Spock.

Using the book as a Bible, he went to a grocery store on the block, coming out with some bottles, formula, five jars of strained peas, disposable diapers, and a knitted hat for Charlotte after a little old lady nagged him for daring to bring a baby out without a hat. The hat was sickly shade of yellow, but it was the only one she had and to stop the woman from nagging he just pulled Charlotte’s sleeve down over her chubby, red fingers.

Myron had yet to hear the baby cry and wondered if she had been dropped on her head because Dr. Spock said brain damage could happen if you dropped a baby.

++++++

Myron dove at the phone, managing to catch it on the second ring before it woke Charlotte. It was Sunday night and he knew exactly who was on the other end of the line. Zeke always called around the same time on a Sunday evening. The calls were always short, never going over whatever fifty cents would buy Zeke from whatever pay phone he was at. Zeke travelled around the southern states with a construction company, working long days and making decent enough money.

“Myron?”

Hearing Zeke’s voice was the best thing he had heard since the last time Zeke called. Since Nikki dropped off the baby Myron had not slept, which just added to his constant sleep deprivation. Even though he desperately wanted to drink, he’d substituted that particular addiction for another and gone through pot after pot of coffee. He was pretty sure bringing a toddler into a liquor store was a bad idea. He had smoked all of his cigarettes but was too afraid to leave the apartment to buy more. Tomorrow was Monday and he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

“Yeah?” Myron coughed when he realized his voice was hoarse.

“What’s wrong?” Zeke instantly demanded.

Myron winced, knowing that Zeke had honed in on the desperation and weariness he had been trying to keep hidden. Charlotte had finally cried and not stopped for five hours until she cried herself into a stupor. Myron’s hand shook as he gripped the receiver.

“Zeke,” was all that Myron could manage to croak out.

“You’re scarin’ me here, LT. You go on a bender, again? I told ya…”

“No… Zeke, Nikki was here.”

“Shit. Tell me what happened.” Myron didn’t answer until Zeke demanded, “Tell me.”

“She left this kid with me. Said it’s mine. She told me she had an abortion, but… she didn’t.”

“Shit.”

“Zeke, I think it’s broken,” Myron muttered. “The baby wouldn’t cry, then wouldn’t stop crying.”

“Babies cry.”

“I let the baby cry because the book…”

“You have a book?” There was no hiding the amusement in Zeke’s voice. “No, no, of course you have a book. Don’t listen to the book. If the baby cries, then pick it up. Do whatever keeps it happy.”

“Zeke… I don’t know what to do. I… I just…”

“It’s okay.”

Myron heard the click of the pay phone, warning the call would soon come to an end if you didn’t deposit more coins. “Zeke, please.”

“It’s okay, LT. You call in sick tomorrow ‘n’ for Tuesday, okay? I’m on the way. Can you keep it together ‘til I get there?”

“You don’t have to…”

“I do,” Zeke cut him off. “I’m gonna leave when I get off the phone. I’ll be there Monday morning. I’ll drive all night. I’ll just keep talkin’ ‘til my time runs out. Ya jus’ keep listenin’ ta me. Babies are like jus’ like cherry soldiers, LT. Feed ‘em every so often ‘n’ make sure they shit ‘n’ shower on a regular basis.”

“Shower?”

“Don’t put the baby in the shower,” Zeke quickly amended. “Jus’ wipe him down with a damp cloth if he gets dirty. Look up his age in that book of yours ‘n’ feed him like it says. I’ll be there soon. It’s gonna be okay. Jus’ keep calm ‘n’ whatever you do don’t…”

The line went dead. “Don’t what?” Myron asked Zeke even though he was gone. “Don’t do what? Zeke?” Myron slammed down the receiver and winced, looking across to where Charlotte was passed out on the blanket Myron had spread out on his mattress. He froze until he saw that she didn’t twitch, but then snuck up to check that she was still breathing.

Myron tiptoed over to the kitchen and brewed another pot of coffee.

++++++

“Ya look worse than…”

“Shut up,” Myron snapped and grabbed a fistful of Zeke’s coat sleeve, pulling him into the apartment. “Get in here.”

“Hello to you, too,” Zeke chuckled and let himself be manhandled.

“What am I not supposed to do with the baby?” Myron demanded. His mind had been obsessing over all the things he was doing wrong and all the things he was going to do wrong. “You were going to tell me and then the phone cut off.”

“Don’t drop them for starters, but there’s a nice long list. Don’t yell at ‘im.”

“This one screams back,” Myron muttered. “Loudly.”

“Must be your kid.”

All of Zeke’s worldly possessions were stashed in his rucksack with the faded block letters Z. ANDERSON painted on the side. Zeke dropped the rucksack onto the floor, noticing that Myron still hadn’t let go of his sleeve. Dark circles under Myron’s eyes made him look even paler, with his cheeks blackened with stubble. Zeke was quick to draw Myron into an embrace, slipping his arms around the too lean form. The last time he had held Myron like this, the boy had tensed and pushed him away. It had been the day Zeke knew he was going to have to walk away from Myron if the boy was ever going to realize what he really wanted. Zeke still kept close tabs on him, just waiting for the trigger of his inevitable downfall. He just never thought that it would come in the form of an illegitimate child.

It was sad that it took a catastrophe for Myron to let him get this close. Zeke pulled Myron in, fitting him close against his chest. Zeke’s breath caught when Myron laid his head on his shoulder and closed his eyes.

“This isn’t happening,” Myron whispered.

Zeke ran his hand over the back of Myron’s head, loving the way the spiky hair felt under his palm. “Afraid it is.”

“She just left her.”

“Her?” Zeke had just assumed that Myron had a son. The thought of Myron having a daughter seemed strange. Zeke peered over Myron and saw the sleeping baby girl in her sailor suit. “Sure enough, it’s a girl.”

Myron shifted enough to hide his face against Zeke’s neck. “I can’t be a father.”

Zeke tightened his grip on Myron. “Looks like ya are. Ya plan on keepin’ her?”

“I…” Myron shuttered. “I thought about calling Social Services.”

Zeke could read Myron’s guilt and insecurity. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong thinking somethin’. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with doing the best by the kid, either. Do you want her?” When Myron didn’t answer, Zeke made comforting noises. “Nothin’ wrong being afraid. No reason to make any decisions right away.” Zeke gave Myron a little shake, but kept him in a strong embrace. “Time to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. Haven’t been able to…”

“No arguing,” Zeke insisted and started to bully Myron the short distance towards the couch.

Myron’s head started to spin as Zeke pushed him back, expecting to feel the floor under his ass and his brain struggled to protest why the couch was there to catch his fall.

“You’ll wake the baby,” Myron protested.

“Not gonna do that,” Zeke whispered with a chuckle. “Yet. You’re half dead ‘n’ full near crazy. Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Zeke poked Myron in the shoulder until he shifted over and left enough room for Zeke to sit at the end of the couch. Myron had nothing left to argue when Zeke pushed and prodded him until his head was resting in Zeke’s lap. This was the unsaid that had sizzled between them in ‘Nam and it was the first time he had felt safe since Zeke left. He felt Zeke’s fingers caressing through his hair and over his cheek. Myron finally let sleep overtake him, pulling him down and away from the worry.

++++++

“I know you’re awake.”

Myron felt like he had just closed his eyes for a moment, but he could tell by the stiffness and ache of his muscles that he had been out for awhile. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to ignore Zeke, wanting to hide for just awhile longer. He let Zeke keep touching him and refused to acknowledge the slight shiver that ran down his spine. It was easier just to keep his eyes closed and hide.

“This isn’t going away,” Zeke reminded him.

The little girl meant nothing more to Myron than any other kid on the street. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to any child, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take any of them home. Just because you shared blood with someone, it didn’t mean you had an automatic connection. He knew that firsthand having been raised by Martin Goldman.

Zeke’s fingers were caressing just under Myron’s collar. “I’m not going away.”

The accusation slipped out before Myron could stop himself. “You went away before.”

“Yeah,” Zeke admitted. “Biggest mistake of my life the first time. Second time, it was just temporary. I was just waitin’ for you.”

Myron rubbed his forehead against Zeke’s thigh, feeling the denim against his skin. He wanted to say he missed Zeke and that life without him was unbearable. Myron wanted to say so many things and yet, still wanted to deny so many others. He wanted to confess that he was scared, frustrated, angry, and aching in ways he shouldn’t for another man. Myron wanted his friend back, but wasn’t sure how to disentangle his role of lieutenant from relating to Zeke as a man and sergeant.

“I don’t know to do any of this,” Myron finally confessed in a painful whisper.

“No one does,” Zeke chuckled. He leaned down and kissed Myron just above the ear. “I never knew how to be anything to anyone before, jus’ sort’ve figured it out as I went along. I was a terrible husband ‘n’ not much better of a daddy. Best thing I’ve done in my life is be a soldier.”

Myron didn’t like the way Zeke said that. No one spoke badly about his sergeant, even if it was Zeke himself. Myron quickly rolled onto his back and glared up at Zeke.

“You sound like a jackass.”

“There’s my LT,” Zeke said and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. “I was beginning to worry that lil’ girl frightened the spark outta you.”

“You’re more than a soldier.”

“Mmm, maybe so.”

“You’re…” Myron stopped because he couldn’t put into words what Zeke was to him. Zeke was everything and the only good thing he had in his life. Myron wanted to argue with him to crack the calm exterior, yell at him, and most of all touch him. It was the last one that frightened him more than anything. “You’re here.”

Zeke’s grin got wider. “Yep, I am here. Gotta say you did get yourself into an awful mess.”

“And you came when anyone else would’ve run.” Myron scrubbed his hand over his face. “Idiot.”

Right on cue Charlotte started to respond to their voices. She rolled over and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Zeke tapped Myron on the shoulder and Myron sat up himself. Zeke figured he wasn’t suicidal enough to say that the kid had Myron’s big brown eyes and nearly identical scowl. Ambling over to the mattress, Zeke leaned down and scooped her up.

Charlotte let herself be picked up and didn’t cry, or smile. She simply watched Zeke carefully, especially when he bounced her up and down. “Hey there, sweetpea.”

Charlotte sucked on her fist and shook her head. “Cow!”

Zeke sniffed and then his face screwed up into a wince. “She’s pretty ripe. We’ll have to get her a bath, that’s for sure.”

At the mention of a bath, Myron was pretty sure he would rather go on a suicide mission. “I got diapers. It didn’t go well.”

“That’s what women are for,” Zeke said. “They got the knack for stuff like that, but I figure we can make do.”

It was perhaps one of the best words Myron had ever heard. It certainly meant more than the false ‘I love yous’ that tarts like Nikki had told him. This was clearly a promise. As Myron watched Zeke fuss over Charlotte, he asked, “We?”

“Yeah,” Zeke said with a shrug. “Figure I can stick around. That is if you want me?”

It was clearly a coded question from Zeke, demanding something from him that Myron wasn’t sure he was capable of giving. But the way Zeke was watching him intently and expectantly, Myron was cursing the faith Zeke had in him. He was afraid of what Zeke was clearly offering him, but he was more afraid of facing the unknown without Zeke.

“I need a cigarette,” Myron blurted out. He stomped over to his kitchenette and looted through the pile of dirty baby bottles and empty whisky bottles, finally finding a pack of cigarettes under a box of opened peanut butter cookies. It was only when he tried to tap one out that he remembered he was out of cigarettes. He turned and scowled at Zeke. “You should’ve brought me cigarettes.”

Zeke motioned to his jacket slung over the back of the couch. “Check in my pocket.”

“God, I love you,” Myron muttered and rushed over to Zeke’s jacket. Attacking it, he searched each of the pockets until he found a full pack of his usual brand and even some matches. It wasn’t until he had one lit and the satisfying burn seized his throat that he fully realized what he said. With the cigarette hanging from his mouth, Myron slowly turned to see Zeke grinning at him. “Umm, I…”

“I heard ya,” Zeke teased and bounced Charlotte in his arms. “No takin’ it back now.”

Seeing Zeke with Charlotte, Myron couldn’t help but think about Katie and baby Judd. After so much sorry and seeing so much death in his life, it was truly amazing the capacity Zeke had to love.

Myron puffed on his cigarette and stuffed his free hand into his pocket. “I wouldn’t mind it if you stuck around. She seems to be taken with you.”

Zeke moved closed to Myron and bumped his hip into Myron’s, chuckling when Myron glared at him. “I kinda missed ya.”

“This is crazy, you know that, right?”

Zeke bopped Charlotte on the nose, in an attempt to get her to smile. She just glared at Zeke and hit him with her small fist on the shoulder. “It would have’ta be.”

“I’m not easy to live with.”

“Ya don’t say.”

“And, we can’t…” Myron gestured absently towards Zeke, then back at himself.

Zeke raised his eyebrow and bumped his hip with Myron again. “Oh, try ‘n’ stop me.”

“No, no.” Myron shook his head and felt a blush rising to his cheeks. “I meant, tell people… I don’t know, we’ll have to tell people… something. If you…”

“No need to be tellin’ people our business,” Zeke assured him, trying to calm Myron. “I’ll stay here for now.”

Myron snapped what was left of his cigarette with a rush of panic, thinking of Zeke leaving. It was stupid because he had managed until now without Zeke. “No.”

Zeke understood exactly what Myron was cryptically saying. He knew Myron wanted him around and thought he could leave. “I’m not gonna go anywhere without you.”

“I knew that,” Myron insisted after a moment. He picked up his snapped cigarette and brushed it into a soup can serving as an ashtray.

Zeke decided that now was a good time to change the subject. He tickled Charlotte in the side and got a quiet giggle, more like a squeak, out of her. “I think I know what her problem is. Seen it in the kids back in the orphanage. Was she in a place with a lot of kids?”

“I really don’t know. She was with Nikki’s sister.”

“Kids in an orphanage got two ways of getting attention. Bein’ sweet ‘n’ actin’ up. Think this one here learned to be quiet ‘n’ sweet was the best way to survive in a place where you’re not wanted.”

Myron was eyeing Charlotte carefully. “She said they called the baby a dirty little Jew. Only way they could’ve known that is if Nikki told them.”

Zeke whistled low. “Always knew ya had bad taste in women, but damn. Good thing you’re done with that now.”

“Yeah.” Myron looked down, and then glanced up at Zeke. His fingers were itching to dig another cigarette out of the package, but he wanted to wait at least a few minutes. He had to say something before Zeke got any deeper into this mess. “Zeke, I think she would be better off without me. It would probably be best for me to give her up for adoption or something, but I don’t think I can. Is it selfish of me? She would be better off…”

“You’re her daddy,” Zeke said in a firm tone. He quickly put Charlotte into Myron’s arms. That was enough for him, end of story. “It’s gonna be tough. You’ll sacrifice. Work crappy jobs jus’ so you can provide for her ‘n’ after coming home from a hard day at work, she could easily tell you she hates you as she could yell she loves her daddy. You’ll have to pay some lady to take care of her while we work. We’ll have to go shopping, too. Maybe drop by the Woolworth’s, pick her up a crib ‘n’ clothes. Plus, some toys.”

“I hadn’t thought…” Myron’s mind was whirling with everything.

Zeke looked around Myron’s small apartment. “We’ll need a bigger place.” Zeke reached out and rubbed the back of Myron’s neck, feeling how hot it was to his touch. “Don’t sweat the small stuff, Myron. We’ll get through today, then tomorrow come the morning. Just worry about now.” Zeke patted the bottom of Charlotte’s diaper. “And a shitty diaper.”

Myron tried to hand Charlotte back to Zeke, but Zeke stepped backwards with his hands in the air. “Have at it.”

“Zeke, c’mon… What if I make it an order?”

“Nope.” Zeke sniffed and pulled a face. “That present’s all for you, Daddy.”

++++++

Several hours later Myron passed out on the mattress falling asleep to Zeke singing softly as he bounced Charlotte in his arms, her head tucked on his shoulder as she sucked her thumb.

“Baby love… my baby love…”

Sometimes history repeated itself and sometimes it got it right.

END.


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